Call to Engage

by Tawny Weber

For a woman—girl—used to country-club fit, a man like Elijah had been an epiphany.

  “Beyond that body, which is worth a few days of worship,” she acknowledged, “he’s got this single-minded sort of intensity that’s easy to miss because he comes across as being totally mellow. He doesn’t talk about what he does. He doesn’t brag like you’d expect. You know, big, tough guy out there fighting the bad guys, making the world a safer place. I admired him.”

  A part of her still did.

  “So what happened?”

  “So we started dating.” She sighed. “Then we got married. Then we got divorced.”

  “Oh. Ouch.” Looking as if the words were going explode out her ears if she didn’t say them, Chloe asked, “So you lived on a military base? Like, surrounded by hard bodies who do push-ups all the time and exercise and look incredible?”

  “No. My parents bought us a condo in Mendocino when we got married.”

  Having heard plenty about Ava’s parents and their control issues, Chloe didn’t question that. Ava would almost rather she had, since she went right for the jugular instead. “So you lived up here and he was in Southern California? How can you be married and live apart all the time?”

  Good question.

  This time Ava grabbed the pitcher herself to refill her glass. She gulped the water down, but it didn’t do much to wash away the bitterness coating her tongue. How many times had she sat down to dinner alone? Slid between the cold sheets of her empty bed? How many nights had she lain awake, desperately wishing for her husband? For a sounding board, advice, help or even just a damn hug. But, as Elijah had so often pointed out, she’d known what she was getting when she’d married a SEAL.

  “Military, especially SEALs, are deployed a lot. They’re gone anyway, so why not live where I was comfortable,” she finally said, using the excuse she’d offered so often that it should have been written into their marriage vows.

  As far as her parents had been concerned, it was. Hence, their insistence on buying the newlyweds a condo near their house. After all, they’d argued, why should Ava move to Coronado when Elijah would be gone part of the time? And Ava had been so afraid of leaving home, so afraid to trust the new life Elijah had offered, that she’d cozied up in that condo and refused to move south.

  “Wait,” Chloe said. “But what about sex? You can’t have sex if you’re not together. I mean, you can. Phone sex. And computer sex. And text sex. I guess you could have plenty. But real sex? What about that?”

  “We had plenty,” Ava said, rolling her eyes. But the idea of sex and Elijah was making the room heat up—not her, she was fine, thankyouverymuch, so she ordered another drink. “We had enough sex when we were together to average out to twice-a-day sex if we’d been together seven days a week.”

  “Holy moly.” Looking awed, Chloe snagged the tequila as soon as it hit the table and knocked it back herself while Ava gaped at her. “That’s like—” she tapped her fingers as if trying to calculate “—more math than I can do.”

  Wondering if steam was rising off the top of her head from the heat of the memories, Ava settled for ice water.

  “So, um, I guess it didn’t work out?” Chloe finally asked. “I mean, obviously it didn’t, or he wouldn’t be your ex. He’d be your now. As in, you’d be doing him now. So what happened?”

  Ava lifted her pain-drenched gaze from her empty glass to meet Chloe’s. “Do you have any idea what it’s like knowing that a kiss goodbye could be the last kiss? That a farewell hug might be the final touch you’ll share with the man you love?”

  “I can’t imagine it,” Chloe admitted as she wiggled her fingers at the waitress to get her attention before pointing at something on the menu. “Is that why you split up? Because you couldn’t handle the danger?”

  “Maybe. Partially,” she said. “My family hated what he did. Oh, they were okay with him. It’s impossible not to like Elijah. But they kept trying to get him to change careers. Trying to get me to get him to change careers. Added to my own fears, it was a lot of pressure.”

  “Was he open to it?”

  “Elijah open to leaving the SEALs?” Ava laughed. A real laugh, completely sarcasm-free. “No. He’d never leave. No matter what I did, or how I asked, he wouldn’t consider it.”

  “You’re a great trainer, Ava. You see the potential in everyone who walks through the door, and you find a way to motivate them to reach high and grab at that potential.” Chloe gave a sweep of her hand down the front of her own body as if it were the perfect example. “But you usually wait for them to walk through the door, wanting to be changed. What’s up with deciding to change this guy’s life for him?”

  “Pressure, I suppose.” Ava shrugged. Pressure, and a baby.

  “But you tried? What’d you do?”

  “Well...I hinted and teased and danced around the idea of him leaving the military. You know, talking about spending more time together, randomly pointing out jobs he’d be great at, that sort of thing. Maybe eventually I would have gotten through.”

  “What changed?”

  Pain crushed her chest in its fist, clenched so tight she couldn’t breathe. “Life,” Ava managed.

  By the time the trio of ice-cream-covered cookies arrived, Ava had shared everything.

  Everything except Dominic.

  Her precious Dominic. Her dark hair, his father’s bottle-green eyes and a smile that made the whole world brighter.

  “One more question,” Chloe said as she handed over one of the two spoons.

  “Just one?”

  “A guy that good, one that hot, sounds like he’d be a hard act to follow.”

  “True that.”

  “So that’s why you don’t date?” At Ava’s nod, Chloe asked, “Does that mean you haven’t been with a guy since him?”

  Had sex with another man? Horrified, Ava shuddered. Despite everything, the idea still seemed like betrayal. And maybe that’s why she was totally freaked out over seeing Elijah again. Maybe that’s why just the sight of the man had got her so hot and bothered that she was still vibrating ten hours later.

  “Maybe I was just too picky. You know, so busy grasping tight to my yardstick that nobody could get close enough to measure up.”

  “Well—”

  “That’s stupid. Talk about living in the past, right?” Ava interrupted, tapping her finger against her lip. “My mistake was forgetting that you can never start again where you left off. It’s like working your ass off to get in shape, then taking a break. You know, the sort of break that packs on twenty pounds and turns the muscles into mush. When you finally get the discipline together to get back in shape, it’s always a mistake to think you can start at the same level you ended. The muscles aren’t trained, you can’t lift as much, can’t go as far.”

  “I don’t think it’s—”

  “I’ve been going about this all wrong,” Ava announced, scanning the room with blurry eyes. “I need to ease in, to work back up to the big leagues.”

  “Ava, don’t be crazy.” Following her gaze, Chloe’s expression turned frantic. Reaching across the table, she grabbed Ava’s arm. “You’re in an emotionally vulnerable place. You’re not thinking straight. And you’ve had too many drinks.”

  “Pshaw.” Ava slid her arm out from Chloe’s grip and her body out of the booth. She took a second to steady herself, then aimed her fingers like a shotgun at her friend. “Locked and loaded, baby.”

  “Ava...”

  Ava didn’t look back.

  She was too busy scoping out the men scattered around the dance floor. Automatically dismissing any who were with a date, she narrowed her choice down to three potentials. Admittedly, her criteria wasn’t rigid—all she was seeking was someone who looked clean and didn’t remind her of Elijah.

  A tiny voice warned her that she wa
sn’t dressed her best, wasn’t carefully made up or wearing heels. That her hair was in a loose ponytail instead of curled and coifed. Her jeans were worn white at the seams, her tee simple red cotton without frills or adornment. Her only jewelry was a pair of half-carat diamond studs and a slender gold necklace.

  A lady didn’t appeal to the correct type of man unless she presented her most attractive self.

  But Ava wasn’t interested in attracting a potential mate. She was trolling for a man. With that in mind, she headed for the closest one.

  Ten minutes later, she’d written the first off for having lousy moves on and off the dance floor and had moved on to the second. This one sang along as Nickelback promised she was never gonna be alone and made Ava long for a little isolation.

  She peered over the guy’s shoulder—not a difficult feat since he was barely taller than her own five-seven—looking for target number three. Because number two couldn’t carry a tune and had definite rhythm issues. And in her opinion, no woman should settle for bad rhythm.

  “Cutting in.”

  Ava knew that voice. Hoping she was hearing things, she didn’t bother looking up.

  “Back off, buddy,” rumbled the dancer.

  “I said, cutting in.”

  Ava glanced up in time to see her dance partner turn his head. As he caught sight of the interruption—the six feet four inches of muscle-bound threat—the rhythmless crooner’s eyes widened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he choked back his words. Then he tossed Ava at the newcomer as if she carried the plague.

  “Sure, yeah. Sure thing, buddy. Here ya go. Cut in. Have a good dance.”

  “I’m going to kill Chloe.” Ava gritted her teeth, turned on her heel and headed back toward her table.

  “Hey, don’t you want to finish the dance?” Mack rumbled as he followed her off the floor.

  “Right. Like I want to have one of those size thirteens stomping on my feet,” Ava snapped, wishing she wasn’t glad for Mack’s bulldozer-size presence as he cleared their way through the crowd. Given how wobbly she felt, one good bump would send her flat onto her butt.

  “So what’s the deal?” Ava asked as soon as they reached the table. Chloe was nowhere to be seen, but there was a pitcher of ice water sitting next to Ava’s glass. Since she couldn’t think of any reason not to, she slid into the booth and poured herself a cold drink. “Did Chloe run away after ratting me out? What’d she do? Call you as soon as I left the table? Is she tattling that I’m in violation of training by drinking tequila? And, worse, eating junk food? Am I in trouble?”

  “I’d say you’re troubled more than in trouble. And I’m not your trainer anymore—remember? You’re the trainer now.”

  Dammit. “I’m sorry,” she murmured as he took a seat across from her.

  “Don’t gotta be sorry to me. You’re the one who’s gonna feel like shit when you’re sweating out the booze in tomorrow’s class. Have fun explaining that to your students.”

  Ava cringed when she finally looked up. Her eyes narrowed. Was that a bruise on his jaw? It was rare for anyone to land a hit on Mack.

  “Were you fighting?”

  “Nope,” he said. “And that’s enough about me. Why don’t we talk about you. As in, why are you in a bar knocking back tequila when a glass of white wine usually puts you to sleep?”

  “Don’t forget the nachos,” Ava muttered, rubbing one hand over her stomach.

  “Of course not. Can’t forget those.”

  “How, exactly, did you expect me to react?” she asked quietly. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Not the first time Elijah’s been home since you two divorced. Didn’t have to warn you then—why’s this time different?”

  Ava had always heard about the other times Elijah had come back after the fact. Or she’d had enough warning ahead of time to make sure she was far, far away during the visit. “You pulled a fast one this time, sneaking in that massage.”

  “What? Like you didn’t realize it was a setup when you saw the name in the appointment book? Who else would qualify as the Hulk?”

  Ava knew Mack had been calling Elijah that name since he was a kid, his way of encouraging his younger cousin to work out, to bulk up. She’d simply forgotten.

  “I wanna go home,” she said with a sigh, letting her head fall back against the plastic-covered cushion of the booth. “If I go to sleep, this will all be a dream. Then I can wake up and pretend it didn’t happen. Like so much of my life. Just pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

  “Don’t know where my purse is. Or my keys.” Ava forced her eyes open and tried to look under the table.

  “Chloe took your stuff with her when she split.” Like magic, Mack was at her side, helping her slide from the booth.

  “She’s so sweet. I should be gay like you. Then I could be with someone sweet like Chloe. Except she likes guys. Remember that Bones guy. What kind of name is Bones anyway?”

  She liked Elijah’s name better. Unlike the man, the name was soft. It flowed from the tongue.

  Oh, the tongue. She wanted to use hers on Elijah. Did he still taste as good as he had before? Would he still like it if she scraped her teeth down his thigh, then licked her way back up?

  His thigh. Ava groaned, jagged pain stabbing at her at the memory of his mangled thigh.

  “C’mon, girlie.” Mack slung one arm around her waist, taking on her weight so he was all but carrying her from the building. As he maneuvered through the packed crowd, Ava moved her feet.

  Step, step, step. But her shoes didn’t touch the ground.

  “I’m floating,” she giggled.

  “Babe, you’re flying.”

  Flying. Wheeee. Ava liked that. Flying high, up above the swirling misery that liked to peek out from its hiding places, reminding her that as much as she liked to pretend differently, her past really was a part of her.

  Fly, she thought, closing her eyes and leaning into Mack.

  Just fly.

  Away from all of the problems.

  Apart from all of the pain.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ELIJAH PULLED UP in front of Mack’s place and, with the engine still idling, let his head drop back against the seat.

  He sighed.

  The best lasagna in the world, served up with guilt and garlic bread in equal heaping portions.

  Why hadn’t he waited a few days? A week, even. Because he was a sucker for pain; that was why.

  After seeing Ava, he’d figured things couldn’t get any worse. So, in the spirit of getting it all over and done with at once, he’d driven to Yountville to have dinner with the family.

  His mom, and her overwhelming worry, so sure that every time she saw him would be the last because he’d die in service to his country. This visit, she’d showed him the frame she’d had made to hold the flag she expected to receive some day commemorating his death.

  His sisters with their undisguised pity over his failed marriage and son’s death. It wasn’t that he hadn’t appreciated their sympathy at the time, but dammit, it had been five years and they were still giving him commiserating pats on the shoulder and rushing around to hide pictures of Elijah’s wedding and son.

  As if they thought he didn’t remember what his son looked like? That stuffing a photo in a drawer would dim the memory of losing him?

  As if he needed to see that glass-framed photo of himself all spiffed up in his dress blues standing next to a white-gowned Ava—who’d looked like a fairy-tale princess right down to the tiara—to remember the feelings he’d had the day he’d married her?

  The love.

  The pride.

  The overwhelming awe that a girl like Ava Monroe was his. His wife, and already pregnant with their baby. He’d been so fuck
ing happy.

  Until he wasn’t.

  Elijah’s head fell back against the headrest as he drew a harsh breath against the memory of Ava’s expression that horrible morning he’d burst through the door.

  The gut-wrenching despair. The heartbreaking misery.

  And beneath it all, the blame.

  Stomach churning with the familiar dregs of guilt, Elijah rubbed his fingers over his eyes. This was what visiting his family got him. He should have stayed home and eaten a sandwich. Just goes to show, whenever you think things are as fucked-up as they can get, they get worse. A lot worse.

  As hard as it was to see the loss and pain in his mom’s eyes, the sympathy in his sisters’, it had been worse seeing all that and more in Ava’s again.

  A part of him wanted to put the car back in gear and head south. He could be in San Diego by morning. Back on base, where life made sense. Where emotions took a tidy back seat to duty.

  Where all he had to face were a few whispers gathering behind his back until the roar mowed him down. The curious looks and obvious doubt from team members who couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen Ramsey’s guile. And, of course, the subtle pressure to get himself a little psychiatric help.

  Elijah had been in some crappy positions in his life, but this one pretty much took the cake and smeared it with frosting and sprinkles.

  He had one hand on the gear knob and his foot on the clutch when his phone rang. Three beeps and a buzz.

  Poseidon.

  Saved by the team, he decided with a bitter laugh, shutting off the engine.

  “Prescott,” he answered.

  “Rembrandt. Draw any pretty pictures lately?”

  “Yo, MacGyver.” He exited the car. “You got a sitrep for me?”

  “Situation normal, my friend,” Lansky said. “The team is in the house, under the Kahuna’s watchful eye. Operation Fuck Up is plodding along with nothing new to report.”

  So Savino hadn’t filled Lansky in on the message. Because he hadn’t talked to him yet? Or was there another reason?

  “You’re on base?”

  “Affirmative. Just came from a powwow with El Gato and the Kahuna,” Lansky said, referring to Torres and Savino by their call signs. “Looks like they’re digging into Ramsey’s previous service record, digging into the details, seeing what they can turn up.”